


live, sing, repeat

by lauraelas



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edge of Tomorrow Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 16:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraelas/pseuds/lauraelas
Summary: Emma wakes up in her shitty little apartment, with her alarm blaring for her to get up.It would've been an ordinary day if not for the fact that just seconds ago, she was in Clivesdale, trying and failing to fend off the alien hivemind bent on taking over the planet.What the fuck?





	live, sing, repeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you don't have to have seen edge of tomorrow to understand what's happening plot-wise; i'll explain the concept in later chapters. i don't have much written after this and i'm pretty busy, but if there's interest hopefully the next installment won't take too long!
> 
> EDIT: i was dissatisfied with what i'd originally written so i tweaked and added to it. what can i say, i'm indecisive as hell.

_"The apotheosis is upon us!"_

They descend on her like a pack of snarling wolves, hands curved into claws and faces twisted with menace.

Emma screams, but no one hears her. She kicks and punches and shoves at whatever she reach to no avail. There's too many of them and her leg is starting to hurt like a motherfucker; they're quickly overpowering her.

"Paul! Please!" she begs, but his features don't even twitch. It's just like she said: he's not Paul anymore. He won't be of any help.

A hand shoves itself at her stomach and pierces it. Pain, unlike anything she's felt before, lances through her. Her shirt is soaked with red blood—her own.

Emma shrieks. She reaches out for the closest person in a desperate attempt to fight back—Paul's friend's husband, the cop. Her fingers sink into his hair, and she _yanks_. He falls atop her, snarling and cackling, then grips her wrists so tightly Emma swears she hears a crunch.

She doesn't think. She can't. With her hands trapped, the only thing she can do is lean up and bite down on his exposed neck, _hard_. He makes a noise of alarm.

Oh God. What the fuck is she doing?

_It's not human, it's not human, it's not human_, Emma chants to herself, but like that helps at all. To her disgust, she tastes blood. It's not coppery, though, like her own had been; it tastes off, different. It fills her mouth until she's choking on it.

Someone pulls the cop off of her. Blue blood splatters across Emma's face and chest. Her eyes burn, and she cries out. She can't _see_. The pain is overwhelming.

Her vision's blurry now, darkness clouding the edges further. The pain is all she can process, and it's spreading, until she can't take it anymore, she can't—

Emma wakes up to the sound of an alarm blaring, the monotone drone digging into her skull.

She sits up wildly, clutching the blankets to her with a white-knuckled grip. She backs up against the headboard and swings her head around. Her heart beats in a staccato rhythm against her ribcage.

Her eyes are blurry, and it's impossible to take her surroundings in, she's so panicked. She waits for..._something_.

But as seconds tick past, nothing happens. There's just that annoying ass alarm, beeping on and on. A very familiar alarm.

As the adrenaline dissipates, Emma's eyes finally adjust. A shitty little apartment, the walls so close they're practically caging her in. Clothes are strewn in a pile on the floor, no way to tell if they're clean or dirty. A white shirt and black shorts are draped on a chair by a small desk, covered with books and loose sheets of paper.

Emma stares.

She's in her apartment. In Hatchetfield.

Just seconds ago, she was in Clivesdale, trying and failing to fend off the alien hivemind bent on taking over the planet.

What the fuck?

She sits there, back braced against the headboard, for a long time. The alarm continues to blare. Her head pounds at the grating sound. Eventually she leans over and slaps the alarm clock, closing it.

Silence. Peaceful, blessed silence.

After a moment, she slowly rests a hand on her stomach, afraid of what she'll find. A giant, gaping hole, maybe. But there's only a thin cotton shirt, no broken skin or blood. The pain that had left her immobile, in the end, is gone too.

Her movements slow and sluggish, Emma throws off the blankets and swings her feet over the bed. The floorboards are cold as shit—the heating has been fucked up for ages, she complained to her landlord about it daily—but she stands up anyway. She instinctively favours her good leg, only to find that the wounded one feels fine.

She takes a tentative step on her right leg. There's no twinge of pain. She takes another step, dizzy with confusion.

Reflexively, her head turns to her desk. Her phone sits atop it, charging. It's the first thing she reaches for in the morning. She grabs it with a shaking hand, the phone illuminating at the movement.

_7:00. Friday, October 11th._

Emma stares.

She has been in Clivesdale for two weeks, her broken leg healing. She was discharged on October 25th. It was still October 25th when she was swarmed by the Hive. When she had died.

Except she hadn't, clearly.

Her phone buzzes in her hand. She startles so badly she almost drops it with a shriek.

A reminder appears on the screen. _8:00 - Beanie's shift _😩🔫

Seriously. What the fuck is going on?

Walking through her apartment is like walking through a dream. She's been within these four walls countless times. Still, it feels alien. No, wrong choice of words. It feels fucking _strange_. Like it belongs to somebody else and she's just squatting there.

Emma pulls back the curtain to her tiny, dingy balcony and stares outside. It's windy out, but the sun is beaming down and there's a steady stream of cars on the street. A few pedestrians walk past. She squints suspiciously. They're just walking. There's no skipping or jumping or—_god_—singing.

Had the past two weeks been a nightmare or some shit? It seems crazy to even consider it, when it had felt so terrifyingly real.

But she's in her apartment. Alive. Her thoughts and body are her own. No chorus members crooning about apotheosis and world peace in sight. No Paul, or whatever he'd become, either.

Her breath gets caught in her throat. Paul. _Fuck_. He'd come back, after she was so scared he was gone for good! But that hadn't been Paul, had it? It'd just been wearing his face to lull her into a false sense of security.

Tears prickle in her eyes, but she blinks them away. She backs away from the window. The off-white walls of her apartment come into sharp focus.

She has no idea what the hell is going on, no clue where Paul is, and she's afraid she's losing her mind completely. Maybe this is what happens when the Hive takes over. They're all just stuck in their heads, forced to hallucinate the past. Or maybe it really had been a nightmare. A long, elaborate, horrible nightmare.

Her phone buzzes again. This time around, she's more prepared. She doesn't jump.

The reminder of her Beanie's shift reappears.

Emma stares.

"Okay," she says. The sound of her own voice almost surprises her, after what feels like ages of silence. "I'm okay. Everything's...okay. Time to go the fuck to work. I guess."

Work. Beanie's. Making people shitty coffee. That's the only logical course of action.

After all, what else is there for her to do?

It takes longer than usual to change into her work clothes and get in her car. Emma seriously considers ditching her shift, but she knows Nora would be pissed. She's one more fuck-up away from being fired.

She needs this job, needs the money. How else will she get through college and pay her rent? The familiar old panic over her future sinks in. Somehow, it's almost calming. This, at least, she's used to.

With a shuddering sigh, Emma turns on the ignition. It takes a few tries, but thankfully her car sputters to life. She drives. Her thoughts shrink, then disappear, until there's only her car and the stretch of road in front of her. Her eyes don't wander, partly due to her lazer focus and partly because she's afraid of what she might see.

She parks in her usual spot, her hands clenched around the steering wheel. She doesn't move. After a few minutes, she forces herself to cut the engine and step out.

The door is unlocked. The bell above jingles as Emma steps inside. They don't have any customers yet. Thank God. One less problem to worry about.

She waits a moment, but nothing happens. She's not sure what she's even expecting. The tight knot in her chest from this morning loosens a little. A nightmare. That's all it had been.

With careful steps, Emma goes around the counter. The green apron is hanging right where it always is. She slips it over her head and ties the strings with fumbling fingers.

She leans heavily against the counter, considering what to do next. The place is sparkling clean from...yesterday. Which was when her last shift had been. Obviously. Still, she grabs a nearby rag and wipes down the counter, just to have something to do.

Strangely, she feels like she's missing something. Or maybe there's something she's forgetting...

"Oh, Emma!" croons a sudden voice from behind her. Her blood freezes in her veins.

Emma whips around, her heartbeat speeding up. Zoey's there, staring with a wide grin. Her boss appears from the backroom as well, standing just behind her shoulder with a matching smile.

"There you are!" Nora calls. She takes a step closer, her lips pulling at her cheeks unnaturally. "We've been waiting for you!"

Oh fuck. No.

No, no, no.

"New company policy," Nora continues. "We'll be singing every time a customer enters, orders a drink, _and_ tips! Come, we'll teach you the song and dance."

"Stay away from me!" Emma shouts as she backs away. Her hip bangs against the counter, a stack of cups toppling onto the floor from the impact.

Zoey's lips form an unnatural pout. "Emma? Whatever's wrong?"

"Don't worry, Emma," Nora reassures her. "It won't take long to learn at all!"

"No! You're not Nora! And you're not Zoey either!" Emma looks around, trembling. This can't be real. What is this, a nightmare _within_ a nightmare?

Before she can think to do anything, to fight or escape, a hand clamps down on her arm. "Come on, Emma," Zoey chirps. "Let's go to the backroom. We'll show you the steps there..."

"Get off of me!" Emma says, but her grip only tightens like a vice.

Nora grabs her other arm. With superhuman strength, they drag her towards the backroom. She digs her heels in but isn't able to find purchase on the linoleum floor. They cross the threshold, and Nora shuts the door closed behind them.

Emma yanks her arms out of their hold, and they let her go, but there's nowhere to escape. No place to hide, even.

She can only watch as Nora and Zoey advance on her. Their hands form claws, grins warping their expressions.

_"Hey, Mr. Business, how do you do?"_ sings Zoey, snagging her arm.

Nora harmonizes with her as she reaches forward. _"Can we get a double for you?"_

_This isn't happening_, Emma tells herself. She chants it like a mantra. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't—_

Emma wakes up to the sound of an alarm blaring, the monotone drone digging into her skull.

She sits up wildly, clutching the blankets to her with a white-knuckled grip. She backs up against the headboard and swings her head around. Her heart beats in a staccato rhythm against her ribcage.

Her eyes are blurry, and it's impossible to take her surroundings in, she's so panicked. She waits for..._something_.

But as seconds tick past, nothing happens. There's just that annoying ass alarm, beeping on and on. A very familiar alarm.

As the adrenaline dissipates, Emma's eyes finally adjust. A shitty little apartment, the walls so close they're practically caging her in. Clothes are strewn in a pile on the floor, no way to tell if they're clean or dirty. A white shirt and black shorts are draped on a chair by a small desk, covered with books and loose sheets of paper.

Emma stares.

"What," she says to the four walls of her apartment in Hatchetfield, "the fuck."


End file.
